


assassination of character

by Anonymous



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Bulges and Nooks, But not always, Caliginous Romance | Kismesis, Casual Sex, Dysfunctional Relationships, F/M, Femdom, Intersex Trolls, M/M, Multi, Not Underage, Open Relationships, Pansexual Character, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Size Kink, Squirting, Verbal Humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-08
Updated: 2015-05-08
Packaged: 2018-03-29 14:51:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3900322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/





	assassination of character

   

 

   Vris is an expert by now in not giving him what he wants. She has to be. Everything on a silver platter would mean that he doesn't have to try, and in a way, Eridan thinks that he needs to try. He needs to make the effort even if, in the end, she just slaps it all out of his hands and tell him to start again. There's always a spark of hope that this time will be the right time. That he'll get his way, for once.

   The first time she gets him off, it's half an accident. It's her win. She takes his slaves, it's game over, he's her prisoner now - they've played this game before, and it always ends with Eridan marooned on a fantasy desert island from which he'll return next time they get together so that she can defeat him all over again.  

   That's usually where it ends, but this time she draws it out. Asks for more.

   It's when she takes his hand and slides it past the waistband of her jeans that he realises that they aren't really roleplaying at all anymore. She doesn't have to be Mindfang to take what she wants from him - he'd gladly give her anything just as she is, and unlike her, he isn't good at making it a competition.

   If he has any fighting streak left in him, it's gone when he feels how turned on she is already; the dampness of her bulge as it twines around his hand, seeking out his body heat. He isn't breathing. It's warm, pulsing, slick, alive - bigger than any he's ever felt, which isn't saying much, but it feels bigger than any he's ever _seen_  and that means a lot more.

   They're just kneeling before each other, her hand over his hand in her underwear, and when she shifts closer and gets a thigh between his, he comes suddenly and unexpectedly and feels her bulge give a slippery twitch of interest even as she splutters and mocks him.

   The second time, she takes his slaves and then she declares that he's going to take his virginity and he says, "God, Vris," and barely gets it out before she snaps, "Yeah, but try not to come in your pants again before we even get there."

   She settles on her back. They're on top of the rulebooks and discomfort passes over her face every other second because she's lying on sharp D8s, scattered as they are all over the floor of her hive. She kicks off her jeans and boxer shorts and parts her thighs and meets the confusion on his face with a smirk, _her_  smirk.

   She's even bigger than he thought, and Eridan really isn't anything special in comparison. His size is averagely average. He doesn't have moves. He doesn't even touch himself there any more than he needs to to get off - he doesn't think his bulge even knows what to do with attention, and it's uncommon but not unheard of to prefer it that way. Vris makes it clear from day one that she gets it, but that doesn't mean she cares.

   "Impress me," she says, even though she knows he can't.

  
-

  
   Fef is a princess in every sense of the word. She doesn't give and barely takes - all of their sex is Eridan between her legs, his head bracketed by her thighs, watching them tremble and quake and kick in his periphery while her sweet voice fills the room, arcing and coming to a harsh crescendo with each climax.

   He always knew this quadrant was a waste of time.

   He has no choice, then, but to shift onto his knees with his ass up, ignoring the way she titters at his sorry attempt to ease the ache in his nook. The constant pulsing need for what she won't give, even when he gets back to her and it unsheathes and curls, wetly and in all its fuchsia glory, against his cheek, leaving smears in its wake. "Ignore it," she tells him, and he does, the way she ignores the steady beating patter of his genetic material onto the floor, nook so wet it's dripping. "Don't touch yourself," she says, and he doesn't.

  
-

   
   He only asks Kanaya once.

   "It'd be fun." He's standing in her doorway, checking his nails like he isn't going door-to-door at this point, but this isn't the kind of thing you talk about via internet. Not with a lady, at least. That would just be obscene. "Seriously, Kan, if this was a thing people wrote reviews on, I'd have the best. Five stars."

   It _would_ be fun. There are things about her demeanour that he can't get enough of sometimes - that rigidity and order and the cold way she looks at him when he's toeing a line. He thinks she would know her way around a nook, even if it's just from those books she likes.

   She looks up from her sewing to give him a look that's as close as he's ever seen to her exasperation. "If you ever decide that you are a woman and invested in a long-term relationship, then you can give me a call. If neither of these things are true, then there is no need to proposition me. I think you know that it will not go anywhere."

   He raises his eyebrows, but says nothing. Considers advising her to take Vris for a ride. Thinks better of it. Considers behind ashamed of himself and thinks better of that too.

   "Sorry," she says, lamely, when he's halfway back out of the door again, and he doesn't bother to tell her that she doesn't have to be.

  
-

  
   He tries to go down on Vris the next time they get together. He's been haunted by the image of kneeling before her while she sits on a chair or something, one slender leg over his shoulder, heel pressing against his back to urge him on. The backdrop fades into obscurity - he doesn't care where they are. All he cares about is that she'd let him kiss her wherever he wants. Spur him on. She wouldn't tell him to _ignore it_ , she'd be offended if he did. She'd choke him with it and remind him that maybe he shouldn't be so awful in combat next time, as if that would be any real motivator.

   In reality, he gets as far as the kneeling before she pushes his head away and says, simply, "Ew."

   He looks up at her, and this time she looks as perplexed as he does. "What? Ew?"

   "In your _mouth_? God, that's kind of disgusting, isn't it?"

   His indignant _no_  dies in his throat - it doesn't matter if it's disgusting or not. It wouldn't stop him from wanting it. "It feels good," he tells her instead, a little distracted by the line of cerulean that's dripping down her bare thigh. He lets it go.

   "Ugh. No way." And that's that, she's washed her hands of the whole idea. He tries not to be too disappointed - he still has Fef. Or at least some of her. "Let's do it right and see if you can get me off _this century_ , okay?"

  
-

  
   Karkat is a disappointment, even though he gets all starry-eyed when Eridan so much as makes the suggestion that they take things to the respiteblock. There's no seduction about it. One moment they're watching one of those trashy movies, and the next thing they're on the floor, and Eridan almost has to laugh at the position Karkat is trying to get him into so that he can take him from behind and kiss him at the same time.

   It barely works - Eridan is balanced mostly on his side by the time they figure it out, and their kisses are open-mouthed and sloppy and frantic, and Karkat isn't shutting up with his, "Wow, feels so good, this is amazing, you're so amazing-" as his eyes flit between Eridan's own lidded, half-amused gaze and the place where they're joined. Karkat's bulge is flushed as pinkish-red as the rest of him with the effort, the harsh movements and the wet sound that permeates the entire hive. Karkat's strong little body and his eager little bulge. The mixed fluids dripping down Eridan's legs and the way has to slip a finger into himself to make it feel like anywhere near enough.

   Karkat's running commentary comes to a startled halt and he lets out a weird, choked _uogh_ sound when he sees that. It's all the warning Eridan gets before he's coming - and Eridan is surprised to feel it mostly in the way Karkat trembles and gasps and clings. The gush of fluid he was expecting to feel inside him isn't there - it's just a weak spurt, so feeble he barely even notices it.

   Karkat slips out of him and backs off, and Eridan stays there for a moment, biting at his bottom lip and wondering if he wants to bother getting himself off with his fingers and whether Karkat would want to watch him or if, judging by the sudden silence, he's dissolved into full let's-pretend-this-is-a-matespritship-and-cuddle mode by now.

   He settles on the latter and turns around, only to find Karkat sitting in a small pool of his own genetic material. Trails of it all down the inside and backs of Karkat's thighs, and a small, ruby-red puddle under him that's thinning, edging dangerously towards their pile of discarded clothes. The soft folds of his nook are just visible between his splayed legs, the opening still leaking like it doesn't know how to stop. Eridan only gets to stare for a moment before small, calloused hands come down to cover the blushing pink. 

   "Kar," Eridan says, half in wonder, and he's totally ready to follow it up with _what the fuck_ or something equally appropriate until he sees the unadulterated heat and shame on Karkat's face, eyes averted as he stares pointedly at a clean part of the floor. After that, all Eridan can muster is a blink and a mildly impressed, "...Huh."

  
-

  
   "I hear you've been sleeping around," Vris tells him in the middle of a game of strip poker - something they've been trying out lately because apparently Vris needs some excuse of a game to initiate sex, she can't just _say_  it and Eridan is learning to be fine with that. He's down to his underwear and glasses, and she's only lost her shirt and shoes. He thinks she's probably cheating. "I mean, _Vantas_? Honestly, Eridan, what happened to your standards? I heard you even tried it on with Kanaya."

   "I have needs," he replies, and then frowns at the cliche of it all. "You aren't meeting them."

   "That's not my problem."

   "Well then."

   There's a rustle of paper-plastic as she reorganizes her hand. He would do the same, but she's distracting him again - all of her hair is tied up for once, and it makes her look almost severe. She catches him staring, her expression changing from soft concentration to cruel determination in a heartbeat. "What do you do to meet them?"

   His own heart skips a beat. He doesn't let on. Just peruses his cards and raises one eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

   Predictably, she rolls her eyes at him, already impatient. "I speaking another language or something? Your needs. When you're alone, what do you do?"

   It's his turn to smirk, now. "Wouldn't you like to know."

   "Fine." She shrugs, and for a moment he thinks he's lost his chance, but she doesn't stop talking. "We all know that you're some kind of size queen, but if you're going to deny it... fine." The tension lies between them even as she says it - they both know it's not fine. It's a challenge laid and accepted and already surpassed. She's already won and countered. "I just wanted to know what you can handle, but whatever."

   "Anything," he says before he can think twice about it. She gives him a look like _yeah right_ , and he's helpless. "Seriously."

 


End file.
